AMERICAN MADE from AMERICAN ASSETS

Oil is Currency. Talk is Cheap. Values are American Made. American Assets are from where?

I can’t do better than talk show hosts who have staffs to study this stuff and are daily exposing the naked truth about American dependency on foreign oil – AND, consequently, American dependence on the stability of the governments producing it.

So it’s a short blog: Here are some talking points to banter back and forth with your conservative or liberal friends, family, and colleagues. (Except at social gatherings...)

1. We have 30 years of known oil reserves at the current import levels, right here, right now, "AMERICAN MADE."

2. We have enacted strict laws to protect endangered species, and the environment, thus not drilling our assets but relying upon others who don’t give an endangered rat’s tail about those things in their countries. With the threat of nuclear terrorism in the hands of those from oil producing countries we Americans and our endangered environment are:

a. Not endangered
b. Not threatened
c. In danger and threatened
d. Stupid

3. Oil is used for machinery and in by-products to produce the following:

Food, clothing, shelter (housing), transportation (to get vital goods like food from farm to the market) communications, national defense, all products manufactured, entertainment, medical and health care & research, and guarding the non-voting rights of endangered species.

Something to think about: As the oil price skyrockets minimum wage jobs will go away when Americans guard against waste and discretionary purchases of stuff like Big Macs, Whoppers, and Tofu burgers. A domino effect will occur in the economy as spendable money tightens. More homes and automobiles will be foreclosed and taken back by lenders, etc. etc. etc. We should:

a. Not drill for oil, but rely on thugs, socialists, and American enemies to supply it.
b. Drill for oil, and hope the environment and polar bears survive this assault.
c. Drill for oil and scare the foreign suppliers into lowering their prices to compete.
d. Drill for oil, employ Americans, produce reliable sources of energy for independence.
e. B,C, & D
f. Stop producing: Food, clothing, shelter, health care, research, transporting goods and services, and walk or swim to those locations where we need to protect the non-voting endangered species.

I'M REALLY GREEN: Meaning God gave us a world I love and will protect. He also gave man (not Congress and Special Interest Groups)"dominion over all these things..." when he created the world; (Chapter 1, Genesis.) I’m just addressing, with respect, the idea that we can solve a current looming crisis to our successful two hundred year run at “AMERICAN MADE” lifestyle and independence. We have, without trying become the envy of the world. We have, to large degrees, been a wise and generous people to the planet, and yet we are babes, as far as countries go. Just 200 years old, and still learning. What we need now is OIL to keep going while we create alternatives and become an even better steward of freedom and progress for all.

And…selfish me--I need paper made by machines run on oil, or at least energy for the electricity made by turbines running on oil, to deliver my words so I can afford to spend money to help the economy. You are in the economy…No? Do I sound self-centered because I care about AMERICAN MADE from AMERICAN ASSETS?

AND, “Who’s in charge here, anyway?” The people? Eight hundred or so legislators and officials from various federal government agencies and branches? Polar bears?

James Michael Pratt

YOUR HEADLINE... READ ALL ABOUT IT!

CHOOSE TO MAKE YOUR OWN HEADLINES... IN ADVANCE

CHOICES: This blog begins and will end with the word "choice."

If you took a quick look at Sunday June 8, 2008 headlines you would read about earthquakes, floods, destructive and deadly tornados, mass murders, tragic accidents, wars and rumors of wars, diseases, increase in oil prices, global warming, political strife, and some stories sprinkled in the headlines offering HOPE… medical news, heroics, and what would seem just plain old good fortune smiling on a lucky few.

In reality most people are going to wake up tomorrow morning without a building they are in or a bridge they are on collapsing. Their plane will arrive safely and most of those on time. Politicians will actually do little to affect how most people decide to live their lives, and much of the bad around us will offer a new look at the opposites – creating previously unconsidered opportunities.

Though deaths in family and among friends inevitably happen, so do births. Losing fortunes or the house means you get to assess anew what really matters most. I know…It has happened to me. No one eats you, though the news would make it out they would. Credit scores plummet, but now you quit racking up a mass of stressful debt to live a lifestyle you couldn’t pay cash for anyway.

Wars rage, sons and family members go. Some will not return. Most will though. Even when we had a world at war (1939-1945) with 16,000,000+ Americans in uniform roughly 15,500,000 came home. This is not to diminish the tragedy of the lost or fallen. Heroes are made from how strife is handled, not from unending ease or lack of conflict. It is real life; to look at the thousands of decisions ahead of us yet to be made regarding how we will respond to the vagaries of life, the sudden reversals, the trials and losses. They certainly will come to all, and though suffering and stresses occur, the sun rises tomorrow and everyday with a question for you… “What will you decide to do with this day?”

CHOICES and Attitudes: We have much to be grateful for in America. Sure there are bad policies affecting us and our life-styles formed by either self-centered politicians or stupid ones (or both) and sure it isn’t $1.50, $2.50, or $3.50 for a gallon of gas any more. Things could be better. But here in the USA you can get up in the morning and change your life, your career, your job. It won’t necessarily be easy. It might take re-training. It might take re-locating. It could be selling one dream in exchange for a new one. Jobs aren’t handed out by governments anyway – not in a prosperous country. They are made or unmade by people with ideas, hopes, dreams, visions of accomplishment. That’s what brought my English ancestors here to virgin land untouched by all but natives 400 years ago. My Dutch ancestors one hundred years ago came with luggage and dreams. They did okay leaving Holland behind – not because someone handed them “freebies” right off the boat, but because of dreams they had and choices they made.

Life isn’t always fair. But, as the saying goes, “What doesn’t kill ya usually makes you better.” It is the future that drives an individual to have faith in the hoped for better days, not the past. Thank God for HOPE. Thank God for INSPIRATIONS which come to us. Thank God for Freedom of CHOICE. And I have to say, thank God also for family, friends, and opportunities to begin anew... I know, you may wonder if the fair-haired (younger years) "golden boy" (quite a while ago) really "gets it." I must sound like one more "positive mental attitude" cheerleader to many.

As I write this I have come to the end of a four year near “zero income” cycle in which I finished two novels, started three more, finished one screenplay and built a company from scratching out the concepts with a friend on a note pad. From hope, creativity, support of loved ones, encouraging words of readers, and belief that great things were ahead, I have created new and prosperous alliances I never would have had if former professional dreams all came true. I have generally laughed my way through each day with the love of a great wife, good friends, and this dream... To do some good with my talent. To remake my life into one that stands for principles during storms and carefree days of ease was not in my plans a few years ago. I was a one novel a year man with what I figured were slam dunk opportunities. Funny how it goes...

Since over one thousand sun risings, I have experienced some sad and almost unbearably hard moments; health and family welfare concerns, deaths and tragedy. But the sun always came up with a question on the following day… "What will you decide to do with this day?”

The dreams never died and choosing them over surrender made all the difference. They are my HEADLINES written in advance. I see what “will be” not what “was” or “can’t be.” I love more because of losing love. I feel more because of pains that nag and ridicule my fading youth. I believe more because I must. I am more because of going through less than comfortable moments; those adversities so common to all. I've earned my "cheerleader" badge.

The Headlines in tomorrow’s news will no doubt speak of destructions, mayhem, violence, and unspeakable tragedies. Don’t you add to them. Make your own Headlines. Announce on a notepad what you are willing to do, who you want to be. To make your life as big as anyone ever has, start and finish new projects. Touch the lives of others around you. It doesn’t take money to begin. It takes a decision. A great novel never will be written in ease or comfort until several have been written out of necessity with grit and determination to the final punctuation mark preceded by these words; The End.

Good beginnings promise victory and good endings. Good beginnings are offered each new day; our "choices" make them or break them. Make sure you have a dream bigger than mere “survival.” Cut loose all those who have hurt you. Do not hate them but do not tether your life to theirs, or to broken promises. Ignore the politicos who promise the moon. The sun is already shining for you. Forget a boss who doesn’t deliver; just make sure you “deliver.” Let go of “unfair” and make the world “fair” by how you live it; what you do for it.

Today, be someone who changes a life for the better, and begin wherever you are… and with whatever you have. Create a HEADLINE in advance! Soon the world will see who you have become and will READ ALL ABOUT IT!

I know this all sounds terribly optimistic. But… the alternative attitude is a terribly poor choice. It’s all up to you and one little word arriving with tomorrow’s sunrise and morning news: Choice!

JMP http://www.jmpratt.com/

FATHER'S DAY TRIBUTE 2008

Dedicated to fathers everywhere. From... DAD, The Man Who Lied to Save the Planet

Chapter 12

The Three Most Powerful Words

"Express love while you can. It’s who you are in here," he said, pointing to my chest, “and in the end, that’s the only thing that matters.” Words are symbols of the action implied in them. Dad was more a man of action than words, yet his final words summed up the ­man.

He was unable to speak during his last week of life. He had elected to die with dignity in his small Idaho farm home, and my deaf mother could only helplessly watch as he gasped for air during those final days, unwilling to leave until he was invited by a Higher Power. My sister, who lived next door to them, finally called and told me to hurry from my home in Utah, four hours away. Hoping this was really not the end, I asked her to tell him to wait for me. Then I delayed my trip until the following morning. I was selfish. I knew he would wait, and I didn’t want him to ­go.

He suffered through that entire night and into the middle of the next day, a devoted father keeping his word. What I saw as I walked into the room shocked me. Even more skeletal than two weeks before, and fighting for air, he relaxed as I entered the room. He had made a final promise and had kept ­it. He spoke to me with his eyes as I sat beside him and read to him the eulogy I had prepared. I sought his approval. Unable to speak, he just weakly nodded his ­head.
Grant Pratt was a religious man and a spiritual man. You can be one or the other or both. He was both. His most fervent desires were that his children share his belief in God, and that we understand that our dad loved ­us.

By then, it was physically impossible for him to speak. His voice was gone, his lungs rattled, and his breathing was labored and ­shallow. I wanted him to witness to me one more time that there is a God. I needed to hear it from him. So I asked a question. I asked it for both him and myself, knowing he would somehow ­answer. “Dad?” I ­asked. He stirred in an attempt to keep his tired eyes ­open.

“Is Jesus Christ the Son of God?”

He groaned as if he would shout, and his back arched as if he would rise from his bed if he could. “Don’t you know that by now?” his face questioned, appealing to me to believe. Then he ­relaxed.

I was stunned at the great final physical exertion he made. I had my answer and was satisfied. I felt this was all I would get from Dad by way of communication. I had given him an opportunity to testify, and he had given one last gift to me—his final testimony. What I wouldn’t do for one more hour of ­talking with him, I said ­silently. It was time for him to leave. The talking was ­finished.

Mom said a tearful ­good-­bye as she stroked his head and kissed him over and over, whispering into his ear, “You can go now, Grant. You can go, darling.”

My father groaned, struggling to form something with his lips, but unable to do so. He could barely raise an eyelid now but kept trying to speak, at least with his eyes. Even if he had been able to speak to his wife, her deafness would have prevented her from receiving the ­offering.
He closed his moist eyes and tears drained from their corners as his pulse steadily weakened. I sat at his side holding his left hand with both of ­mine.

So this is how Dad dies. Congratulations, Dad, I found myself thinking. He had “finished the race” and had “fought the good fight,” as Paul the ancient apostle ­wrote. I didn’t expect any more from Dad. But suddenly he turned his head to me, and he opened his eyes once again. Gazing intently into mine he said in the clearest and most deliberate earthly voice he had ever owned, these words—“I love you”—and then his eyes closed, and he was ­gone.

In the end it won’t matter what is left behind, if the gift of love isn’t. The three most powerful words any father or parent can speak to his child, and any child can speak to his parent were his final words, his parting gift to me. Of all the sacred words in human language, they are the three that say it ­all.

He didn’t leave a famous name. He left no money or wealth. But I was given something most kids on the block never got. He left me with his heart and soul, and that’s not bad. And after all, my dad was a hero. He had lied to save the planet, and that’s something no one can take ­away.

Express your love while time is on your side. In the end, it will be the only thing that ­matters.

LOST INNOCENCE, PROMS, HILTON HOTELS

Statutory Rape, Teen Sex, All Night Booze and Drugs, OK with Hilton Hotels

June 3rd 2008

I wanted to stay one more night at one of the best accommodations for the price I had ever experienced, a Hilton “Homewood Suites” on the border of LA and Ventura County.

I was told, “Sorry Mr. Pratt, our hotel is entirely booked up by Prom Night parties.”

“Say what?” I answered, somewhat astounded. (I’m not a prude, I’m a father.)

“We have two entire buildings reserved by High School Prom Night people. They have been calling all day asking, ‘Is it okay to come in at 1:00 am to 2:30 am?’”

I stared the young man down. “You are telling me, a businessman can’t extend his stay; get a room, because you are renting two entire buildings of the three out to teenagers and their dates?”

“Yes sir.”

I asked,” How do you do it? I mean we could have never gotten away with it in my time.” I meant legally.

“These are different times, Mr. Pratt.”

“They sure are,” I answered.

I didn’t sleep well at all May 31st. I couldn’t. I kept imagining the lies being told parents; something like “Mom, I’m staying over at Lisa’s after we get home from Disneyland.” Stuff like that. I kept thinking of the boys talking about “scoring” and getting the girls drunk. Now days it is also the girls talking the same about scoring and getting the boys stoned. I thought about the 18+ year-olds; (legally and supposedly adults) with 14-17 year-olds (supposedly girls) – “statutory rape.” It occurred to me that some parents knew and their credit cards probably charged for this "loss of innocence." I have no illusion to the number and quantity of pills, alcohol, condoms, and in the units, all with two beds per room and a pull out sofa-sleeper in the living room, what would be happening in the “multiples” of couples.

It all was too creepy. Sleep deprived, the "love story" writer could only think about NO “love” going on, just immature teen bodies flaying at each other to wake up the next day with hangovers, stories of glorifying rape, consensual teen copulation… ugh…

“How did I ever turn 55 with such thoughts NEVER occurring to me,” I asked a business associate. “You have an innocent heart, Jim.” (Nice compliment.)

“I love real love too much,” I mumbled to no one. I thought back to Simi Valley High School Prom Night 1971. Disneyland, the laughter, the fun, the all night temptations too... Sure I knew shacking up was going on here and there, but even the post “sex, drugs, and rock & roll” of Hippie Heaven days, 1970’s seems so innocent now.

So much for business trips. I’m staying home the rest of my life. And oh yeah, circulating my experience to Radio Talk Show producers and newspapers.


JMP www.jmpratt.com